The Bridge

The Bridge.


I look at the vast body of water flowing beneath. Its a strange sight,
looking at the Sabarmati river from the middle of one of its seven
bridges. It makes me realise how small I am. And how easily I'll be
long dead before anyone will notice my body floating lifelessly in its
currents.

I take the sheet of paper out of my breast pocket, read it again, in
the scorching sunlight.

'Dearest Jigna,
I know you've been hurt, and won't speak to me ever again, but when
you read about my death in the paper, please know then that I loved
you till the end of my life and I prayed for you with my last breath.'

But hope is a weird thing. I pull out my cell, dial her number. And,
with a prayer, I put it to my ears.

Tring tring...
Tring tring...
Once...
Twice...
Thrice...


'The number you're dialing is not responding'

I hang up.

I put the phone on the letter on the bridge parapet, climb over, look
at the sky and mutter:
"JIGNA I LOVE YOU..."




Then I jump.



***



Somewhere in the far side of the city, on another bridge straddling
the Sabarmati, a lone cyclist hears a phone ringing.

With a queer surprise he reaches for the phone ringing on the
parapet of the bridge. There is a scrap of paper fluttering under it.

" Dear Ansh,
I know I've hurt you, but let me tell you that you were in my
thoughts till I took my last breath."


***